The New Sexpert
by CyKiESuMMerS
Summary: After the tragic loss of Jean,the X-Men deal,grieve,some move on,others don't,and in the midst of it all a new member joins the team and changes the way things are.How Scott reacts is anticipated. Slightly different take on the usual reaction.UPDATED CH3
1. Introductions

I could tell this was going to be a long day.

There the professor is, just sitting as grimly as ever at his desk, looking at all of us with those keen intelligent eyes of his. He was the only person I could look in the eyes as a kid, even with the ruby covering my eyes; I couldn't look anyone in the eyes for the longest time… Then came Jean and we all know that's history.

Even without words I could feel everyone gradually look to me, to see how I'd react. Charles just told us the news that a new instructor would be joining us at the X Mansion, apparently a telepathic mutant and whatnot.

My face numbs up into a complacent smirk, and I only think about the connection of a new telepath joining us in lieu of…Jean, because I can just feel the tension and everyone around me noticing, picking up on that association, and pointedly directing concerned looks at me. They expect me to be the one to take the most notice of that coincidence. Can't they stop? I DON'T CARE!

Do they know what it's like to feel this empty? I'm done with this grieving, I'm done with their pity and the silence that comes over a chattery room when I come in.

Lately, I've just been humoring them humoring me. Humoring my sadness. I went through a cynical phase which I might still be stuck in…although now it is just plain old apathy.

Apathy that just gets you through. I know they mean well, but it's funny I guess to just grin when they spot me coming from the other direction in the hallways and suddenly find the need to look down like I'm some sort of bum or something.

So what if a new member is joining us? That's supposed to happen, we're always open to it. There might be a coincidence that a telepath is coming after another telepath left us… but it's not that important nor significant. At least to me.

Jean's Jean to me because she's Jean. Her powers don't make her who she is and even if another person shares her powers, it doesn't mean they are her. I don't feel the same way about Professor Xavier as I do about Jean and they have the same abilities. It's all irrelevant.

It seems like the others are giving this new person's coincidence more importance and controversy than it needs. As a leader of the X-Men, who is finally finding his feet again to get back up there and regardless of any situation, I will lead the team and I will treat every member new or old the same. Nothing changes if nothing changes.

All eyes are on me now, blank assuming eyes. What do they want? What do they expect? Should I put on the show they want and punch the wall in rage? Shout at the injustice of it all? I'm too tired and I am especially sick of them.

Now even the thought of Jean makes me spiteful, I know it's not really at her, but it's like a handicap and no one can look at me and all they do is see her.

I feel myself standing up and my feet carry me out of the room. Hm looks like I found them and they're working!

I'm in my room now which is a complete bachelor pad again, just like it used to be before JEAN. It's kinda nice now. At first it took a lot of getting used to, but I adapt well. After my period of torment and grief, I had a mental break down and just cleaned everything; you should have seen me then. My room had been a cavern of Jean memorabilia, week old take out, and our clothes just strewn everywhere not to mention the many damages I might have made to our room.

I cleaned everything like she would have. I boxed all of her things in anguish, shaking as I did so. She left my room that day and in a way, she left me that day far after her actual death.

I think it was good though, to make this room all mine again. I feel better, I can actually function and take showers without sobbing, I can eat and keep things down and I can make myself shave daily now.

It looks like how it used to before I settled down and committed to Jean.

The knob on my door slowly turns and in comes Ororo, always meaning and looking her best. Before I can dive headfirst into my bed and pretend to be in so much angst, she comes in and stands before me, playing on my computer.

Her stormy gray eyes are sad and translucent, yet she is looking at me with concern, her hand on my shoulder.

"Scott… I know this must be hard on you. I am so sorry. We're all here for you and-."

I keep my face straight, and interrupt, "I know. Thanks. It's fine. I'm fine."

She has that look on her face like she doesn't believe me and "sees right through my façade".

I heave a small sigh and shrug, "Really. You guys worrying just… gets aggravating. Okay? I am dealing with this and it would be a lot easier if everyone didn't just give me weird looks and hush up whenever I come by. Don't treat me like a victim anymore."

Shocked, Ororo opens her mouth, but then closes it and her gray eyes relax and she softly smiles at me, and then excuses herself.

I know everyone worries that I repress too easily and maybe that's it, maybe that's why I'm not as mournful anymore as everyone else. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Not in a depressed sort of way, but more like, a blasé way. I've seen things that were horrible, so now everything else is just trivial and I am done caring.

After spending the entire morning alone in my room, tinkering on the computer or napping, I decide to go to my sports bar, a little section in the kitchen that is dedicated to sports and just for me; the whole mansion knows it is off limits.

I rise from my bed, stick my hand underneath my glasses to rub sleep away from my eyes. Stretching never felt so good after a good nap. The kinks at the base of my spine work themselves out and my back cracks under rippled muscle.

As I trundle down to the kitchen in my black boxer briefs, a dark glow issues from the dusty sky windows above the staircases. I guess I napped longer than I thought. Actually, the whole mansion is dark; it takes a few minutes for my ruby encased eyes to adjust. I pass by the rec room and peek at the digital time on the TV set. 3 AM. Nice, Scott.

I open the cabinet that is mine and settle behind the small bar attached to the kitchen wall. I double check my security coded mini fridge to see if Logan jacked any of my beers again. The glow from the open fridge is bright, and illuminates the dark kitchen. I leave it open instead of turning on the lights, to make myself a good stiff one. I notice that some of my expensive collected bottles have been opened… some of my liquor is missing. I lazily make a note to myself that I'll personally kill Logan tomorrow.

The soft swoosh of the fridge door closing doesn't bother me as I am left alone in the dark again with just me and my drink.

I down it thirstily, ready to break open another bottle. Usually, I prop myself up against the bar and prepare myself a special tray of beer or another sports-appropriate drink and a bowl of peanuts. Then I make the brisk walk from the kitchen to the adjoining rec room and enjoy my ESPN.

However, this midnight occasion is just a whim and there are no teams playing right now that would interest me, so yes, I guess I am just drinking for the sake of drinking.

Years of intense training, experiences, and instinct suddenly kick in and make me wary of a familiar feeling that I am not alone…

My muscles tense, my nerves peak, and I squeeze my high baller in my hand, ready to lash out at the darkness.

"Please, calm down, there is nothing to worry about, I am no predator, Mr. Summers."

An eerie feminine voice speaks to me from the shadows, and it is completely unfamiliar. Nobody would be up right now, and if this is an ambush, I'm not very well prepared.

With a spring of muscle, I am able to turn and flip on the lights in one fluid motion.

I blink in the sudden light and look around and nearly jump out of my skin when I see someone standing against the granite island in the kitchen.

I actually do leap up a little bit to the amusement of this unwelcome stranger, but then I see that it is some blonde girl wearing nothing but a teeny white night dress. Suddenly, I feel indecent and exposed by the way she is staring at me.

I try not let my voice waver, "Uh, who the hell are you? What are you doing here?"

Nothing to be afraid of. Right?

The blonde girl shrugs a little, letting the thin strap of her dress slip off her shoulder. "I know who you are, you're Scott Summers aren't you? Leader of the X-Men?"

Okay now I am very freaked out.

"It seems like we have midnight cravings in common. Which is rare. Thank you for providing the refreshments." She merrily smiles at me, tipping a champagne flute from a set that Jean's parents gave us as a gift, and it is filled with sparkling gold champagne and orange juice. The merry smile does not reach her eyes though, which are cold and clear and staring intently at me in the most uncomfortable way possible.

"You! Y-you broke into my alcohol?"

"Well, not even a proper introduction and you are accusing me of such debauchery! Mr. Summers, we have a lot to learn about each other. Although from what I hear, you do not have any interest in learning anything about me."

Who is this strange woman in our house?

Before I can sort things out, she cuts in like she knows I'm about to speak. She walks towards me like a jaguar sidling up to pounce on its prey. I wonder if I'm dreaming or if this is some strange illusion being put on me because none of this, especially this random girl's presence, makes sense.

She walks right up to me so she is right under my chin, she is that close. I lift an eyebrow in confusion and she looks down so that I'm suddenly aware that there is not much between us except my tight boxer briefs. Oh my god why did I wear these tonight instead of normal boxers, why did I think I could step out of my room in underwear without seeing anyone?

She looks back up at me and lifts a silky eyebrow at me. A palm is stretched out and the edges of the fingertips are jabbed in my bare chest and I clumsily lift my wrist and limply shake her hand without much distance between us.

I am looking down at her and she is looking up at me and I feel a hazy lightness come over me and nothing has to make sense and I don't care and she's parting her lips and we are standing too close to each other and she might kiss me or kill me and I have no idea what's going on.

"I am Emma Frost. Scott Summers…So glad to make your acquaintance."

Her limp hand is still held in my palm and I drop it, suddenly tilted back to conscious thinking and I bluntly ask, "Huh?" I don't know any Emma Frosts.

She haughtily laughs, "You really don't know who I am, do you? I'm the new staff member here. I just arrived this afternoon and met everyone at dinner…but you. The others said that you weren't feeling particularly well and did not want to come down to greet me. Judging from the thoughts I picked up, I presume it is because of the recent…loss this place has suffered and of course, I respect that you have no respect for me because you don't want a new 'replacement.' Well I assure you that I will most likely gain your respect and also, I am not replacing anyone. No one can be as fabulous as _moi_. No offense to this Jean Grey. God rest her soul." Upon saying moi, her eyebrow arches menacingly.

Usually hearing her name triggers something in me, I would have probably told this new girl off for disrespecting the dead, but that all flew over my head as I leaned forward.

"What? You were supposed to come today? I had no idea, my apologies for not being present at dinner, Ms. Frost. Why did they tell you that? Nobody told me about your arrival and nobody invited me to dinner… I would have wanted to meet you! I get it though, we're all pretty rattled about the death so it is considerate that my colleagues would assume otherwise. Also, my apologies for my rudeness right now, I just didn't expect… this. I want to clear things up and let you know that I have no ill intent towards you and would love to welcome you here. Please excuse my sleep attire though."

Emma Frost smirked and looked down at my body again briefly and said, "Excused! Definitely excused. I know I certainly did not expect… this. You may find though, that sometimes, what we don't expect… can prove better than what we do expect."

I regained my senses and grunted before stepping back and trying to cover myself behind the bar counter. Emma noticed this and smiled even wider, "So, Mr. Summers, now that the ice is broken, why don't you fix me another mimosa?"

She handed the now empty glass to me, dangling the thin glass stem between two languid fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

**The New Sexpert**

**A.N.: Thanks to all that reviewed! I hope yall enjoy this little chappie. **

**Tharrow: I sorta-kinda loved your review! Thanks for the instructions; I forgot to tag the character. Also I'm so glad there's another Cyclops sympathizer. I hate the movies and Bryan Singer in a way for making the best X-Man ever so weak and insignificant. He's the reason the X-Men are so awesome!**

**Xmen4life: Wow wow wow! Lol thanks I'm so flattered my story's worth enough to use chemistry in a review! Well here's your update! Thanks for inspiring me to do another : ) OH and ps about my other story Seventeen Again? Haha I know the ending was a bit weird, but remember they're in teenage bodies now and their hormones are hitting them hard. **

-2-

For some reason, an awkward moment of silence followed by the slow clinking from cups being put down comes over the dining room and the cause of this effect is revealed as Emma Frost comes sashaying in an all-white-outfit which I can't help but notice is very flattering with her almost white blonde hair.

The girl is truly stunning and I have a feeling it will take some getting used to but I am glad she's the new addition to our staff, she seems eager to teach despite her attempt to act jaded and nonchalant. Her looks aren't that important to me but she does have an aura that makes her presence very noticeable. When I first saw her I did not really take note of her attractiveness due to my other worries and I guess I just don't notice that kind of thing like all the kids around here say because I'm a "tight-ass". Whatever.

As I got to know her a little bit though and the longer we talked, the more I started to find her aesthetically pleasing to look at, and it didn't take me by surprise, just a little bewilderment was all.

Her eyes are so brilliantly blue that they come out as blue to me in my glasses, too dark and striking a shade to show up as purple in my red tinted vision. I admit that I judged her at first due to how young she looks. However, I know from experience with Jean that beautiful people can be very intelligent, and after spending the whole night up in the kitchen, then to a more comfortable place like my room, conversing with Ms. Frost, I discovered that she's actually really bright and she acts far too mature for our age. She turned my expectations around and in the end she made me feel like a little boy put in his place.

Ororo and Kitty both seem to find their breakfast plates very interesting but Hank stands up and grandly gestures, "Good Morning to you Ms. Frost, please come join us for something nutritious! What will it be?"

There are a couple empty seats open at the table and none occupied next to me, so I raise my hand towards Emma, "Ms. Frost, there's a chair here."

An eerie second passes and Emma's eyes lock with mine before she moves to sit next to me.

Kitty and Ororo lose interest in their plates and look up startled.

"So Scott, glad to see you also join us for breakfast today!"

"Henry, I never not want to join you for any meal. I find that sometimes I am excluded from meals!"

The furry blue beast sighed, "Scott, not now it's too early to handle your sardonic antics and please don't use never not together again it is a negative use. Your grammar is almost offensive. We just assumed that you were already asleep and wouldn't want to be disturbed last night."

I lean my nose in towards my blue friend and clock my chin cheerfully, "Right, well don't assume that super heroes don't get hungry. Just because my wife died does not mean that I will too from starvation."

A sound like a hiccup emanates from Storm and I swear her plate jumps up with her.

Kitty huffs and rolls her eyes in that way where I know she thinks I am being cynical and bitter because Jean died and this is how I am grieving, by being a self-pitying jack ass. Well that is so not true.

They walk on egg shells around me, it's just annoying. I knew the Jean card would be a bit brutal, but seriously a guy can only handle so much sympathy and bullshit. Sometimes we just need explosions, a provocation and to react, or to just move the fuck on.

"_Is that what you want? I am all those things."_

Now is my turn to jump up. I know from years of telepathic communication with Jean, that voices in your head are distinctly in your head and cannot be heard by others around you unless they are telepaths too I guess.

There was definitely a female voice in my head. How did it even get in there? I have strong shields and the last person to speak in my head was either Jean or the Professor. Not that I know too many telepaths….

I know the voice enough to look to my side where Emma Frost is demurely chewing on a granola bar. She senses me staring at her and she looks up with only the subtlest hint of a mischievous smile at the corner of her frosty pink lips. If I blink I swear it vanishes.

I shake my head free of the last chink of thought and resume my breakfast, evading the looks Ororo is giving me. Henry claps his hands together, "Well, I think you've gotten your point across Scott. We won't leave you alone. Uh I see you've met our new staff member?"

A light brush to my tricep, "Oh Henry, do call me Emma, as for you too Mr. Summers. It seems that having missed dinner, Mr. Summers got the midnight munchies and came down to the kitchen to snack, and unfortunately ran into me in my nightie! You can imagine my embarrassment at being caught so exposed in my sleep wear. What an awful first impression, wouldn't you agree?"

With that, Emma flutters her eyelashes and slowly lets her hand drop, dragging down my arm as it returns to her side.

"I, erm didn't notice, Em-Emma." Damn this stutter.

Pearly white teeth glitter at me as Emma rolls her head back slightly and laughs delightedly at me. Her silvery blonde hair cascades down her back and shimmers with each laugh.

As if she couldn't make me blush any further.

I've made a fool of myself in front of the new team member.

I add, "Call me Scott by the way."

"Scott." That voice, those alluring icy eyes, everything is so beckoning about this person, I figure she must be a pretty strong telepath because the psychic vibes and feelings I get around her are undeniable.

"Would you kindly please pass me the pitcher?"

Snap out of it. My hand automatically reaches for the ice cold pitcher of juice and smoothly brings it over her cup and pours her a drink.

Those glassy eyes turn sharply to the younger member of the table, "Kitty, is it? Since I have just arrived here, I would like to clear things up and let you know that not only as a telepathic mutant can I hear your thoughts of what you would like to do to Mr. Summers, how you hacked into the boys' wing's camera, but I can also hear your thoughts about my outfit of choice. Let's keep our thoughts nice and clean shall we?"

The sound of a cup shattering echoes throughout the quiet dining table.

I can tell just by looking at Kitty that she wants to use her powers and just phase through the floor, like she used to do during her less turbulent teenage years. And I say less because, well, it's Kitty. She gets feistier with age, the kitten grows claws.

Wait, Kitty thinks about me?

Throughout the entire time we've known each other, Kitty and I have not shared much more than casual conversations, remarks, or field commands. I have respect for her as a teammate, and seeing her grow with her mutant powers qualifies me somewhat to know when she wants to sink into the floor and just disappear. That's it though.

She won't do it though.

She won't phase through the floor. She's older now, proven herself more mature, and she knows running away like that is not okay.

She did it…

Ohhh, I have to just cringe right there. Katherine Pryde, I will definitely have to have a talk with you later.

I suppose though, that I will let her slide on this one, being verbally slaughtered by the newbie and running away is better than staying like a normal person and saying highly inappropriate and snarky things back to the newbie. Logan learned that one recently when Kitty started talking back to him.

Hank looks at the empty chair where Kitty was just sitting, and groans, "Oh, Katherine what a crisis. She took the silverware with her in her hand. I just hate finding missing silverware in nooks and crannies of the mansion. They should never leave the kitchen."

I feel a bemused smile creep up on my face and I lean back in my chair, balanced on its two back legs. "Well, interesting ethical question; would you say it is ethical to read the thoughts of others and recite them publicly? I mean, what about privacy?"

My arms are folded up, hands clasped on the back of my head. I directly look to Emma and give her a small smirk, to let her know that I'm not judging, simply curious about the subject.

Hank chortles, "Well that's easy, ethics schmethics. Perspectives are so broad there's really no answer to an infinite spectrum of question. Not plural."

"That was complete nonsense Hank." I notice Emma says this fondly, already a fan of the Beast.

She continues after crossing her legs towards me, "Ethics does not apply to thought. There are no ethics in thinking, no rules no moral boundaries. We are free in thought unless bound by our own heads, and in that we are own prisoners. Either way, there is no ethical way of thinking, we can't help what we think and so what if we do, thoughts are private, and even if one were to know of another person's thoughts, they would simply be stating the facts of what they know, but how could they possibly know exactly what is being thought, the context and feeling of it, and in other words, no two minds are alike. Did you know, Scott that every single being in the world has their own different definition of love? I can invade Kitty's mind and announce what she thinks out loud to others but no matter how embarrassing or cruel it may seem, I can't truly change what she thinks and how she feels about her thoughts, she's still going to keep thinking them. Let's just say today was a good way to inform her that I am here and I can hear her mind, so no use in hiding it, you know? Where's the ethics in that? I'm being honest and backing up my honesty with examples of the truth from her own head. She shouldn't be thinking those things if she doesn't want them known. For example, she wants to ravage you and keep you prisoner in her bedroom, don't look so worried darling it's only her fantasy. However, I think that if someone appreciates another person's physique, they should let it be known because you never know what will happen and there is no shame in lust or in Kitty's case, nudity as well. I love working in the nude without any shame. Is that ethical enough for you Mr. Summers? I can't change what she thinks, and that is all the freedom of privacy you need. Myself, yes I can manipulate and change how people think, but that is a whole other story."

Whew.

At the conclusion of her statement, she tilts her chin down slightly and looks up at me through precise eyes with a challenging grin. I shiver involuntarily. I don't know why.

A.N.: Next chapter already partially written, so update will be soon! Please be kind leave me a review : )


	3. She Came to Him in the Night

**A.N.: Scott and Emma develop a platonic friendship! Reviews would be very nice and appreciated in future chapters! I'm open to anything.**

**CH.3**

**-Intimacy-**

She came to him in the night, as he slept somewhat restlessly. Peering in on his sleeping form, her tendrils of fire licked at him, reached and slithered for him, wanting to touch his skin, wanting to consume him.

The illumination of the great flames about her, as he last remembered her, diminished, leaving her alone in the room with him.

She touched him, waking him, and when his eyes flickered open and he saw her, he knew and did not question.

She wanted something from him that much he could tell.

Her face had that yearning and dangerous look she often used to get when she wanted, no needed something that only he could give her.

But why now? Why tonight?

These questions did not go through his head. No thoughts really did go through his head.

Her hand, soft and warm and so real smoothed out the frown on his face. She closed in on his face with hers, kissing him as passionately as she could.

He pushed her away, and she leaned back startled, attempting to get her legs into his bed, trying to get aboard his bed, in it with him.

Why didn't he want this right now?

He knew. "You're dead."

She spoke. "Scott, our love is too true and everlasting to ever die. How can I die when my love for you never will? I will never stop loving you. Ever."

The statement made his spine crawl like it did lately when he looked at her gravestone. He knew it to be true. For himself, he knew he would love her forever as well, but recently after the aftermath of her death, he thought darkly of her, spitefully, and he was too tired to be guilty about it. He just wanted the pity to go away, the loneliness, the constant reminder of her death, the guilt, and perhaps just her in general. He was not going to be a haunted man anymore if he could help it.

"Jean, get the fuck out of my head and GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY DREAMS!"

Lightening quick reflexes enabled his hand to lift his sleeping mask without thinking, and an explosion of crimson red bursting with her reignited flames as she flew back lit the dark room, as she took the red beam in the chest, and her red hair mixed with flames danced up.

He was still yelling when she disappeared at the end of the infinite red ray from his eyes. He was still yelling when he noticed the obliterated section of wall and next to it, was a pristine and flawless girl who was not Jean or the Phoenix. A far cry from Jean in fact.

And dangling from this person's manicured fingers were two champagne flutes, and in the other, a bottle of champagne.

He was sitting up, leaned forward in his bed, blankets tangled around his legs, and a light layer of sweat covered his entire body clad only in briefs.

Of course, at the red-tinted sight of his new guest, he lowered his sleeping glasses securely over his eyes and breathlessly panted, "M-Ms. Fro-I mean, Emma! I-I'm so sorry I didn't mean to shoot at you!"

The blonde made her way to Cyclops in his bed, undeterred, and placed a cool hand on his hot, sweat-slicked chest, pushing the tense man back.

"Nightmares, Scott? I could make them go away for you." Emma's voice was colder than her touch.

Scott shook his head, "N-No thank you, I'm okay thanks. What brings you here in the middle of the night? Did I wake you?"

Emma set her glasses down on Scott's nightstand and nudged him so he would scoot to make room on the bed for her to sit.

She popped open the cork effortlessly and poured the golden fluid for the two of them.

It was then that Scott noticed how strange his situation was and how tiny Emma's black night dress was as she settled next to him in his bed. If he cared he would have marveled at how forward this woman was, but he was barely even aware of this because now she was facing him, handing him a glass of champagne, with slivers of moonlight reflecting off her crystal blue eyes which were narrowed thoughtfully at him.

He took the glass silently and took a couple sips appreciatively. The aftermath of his broken dream was still in his mindset.

Looking down forlornly at his bare chest, Frost whimpered, "I had to come by, there was this incessant and raging need…an urge for me to come by. Do you know what I mean, Scott? I could hear your thoughts, some turmoil just down the hall in your room, I could hear you talking in your sleep and I became curious. I would love to help you relieve this stress in any way possible. It must be so hard leading a mutant team…carving the future for mutantkind…keeping the perfect image with a dead wife to your name."

Scott muttered, "As weird as this is, I still can't be sure I'm not still dreaming…"

Emma smirked wildly at him over the rim of her glass, "And if you still were…?"

Scott looked up from his lap, "Huh?"

The new staff leaned in so the tip of her nose was adjacent to his. "If it were still a dream…what would you do to me?"

With her free hand, Emma slid her fingers down his muscular and vein-roped arms, toyed around with his fingers, and then settled her hand on his inner thigh just beneath the hem line of his tight black boxer briefs.

Scott looked down at the foreign hand on his leg and then slowly looked back up at her face. "Ms. Frost?" Scott had his reservations but he knew he had felt something or someone in his head during his dream and still not sure if he was awake or not, Scott felt that he should play it safe.

Emma's smooth brow furrowed in frustration. "What is with you Scott Summers? Every man I meet who so much as looks as me, automatically pictures me naked, wants to do things to me and I can't even tell you how dirty men's heads are. But you! I meet you, and you don't even want to touch me, I scan your mind and I can't find one naughty thought about me! Not even any visuals! What is wrong with you? All the other males' heads in this mansion are thinking the same thoughts about me, but YOU!"

The male in question faltered, startled by the glacial girl's sudden outburst.

Before he could speak, she continued, "I saw this fabulous miss Jean Grey, just now in your head while you were dreaming, although from what I could tell you were lucid dreaming… You knew what you were doing in your sleep. I wouldn't think a man would curse and shoot at the love of his life? You are so hungry and you don't even know it, Scott. I saw what was in your head, I've been there and personally…_I love it_. Your head…it's so different from any mind I've encountered. It's a telepath's cocaine. Jean's death, all this; the sympathy, having to act a certain way, her effect on you…it's tearing you up inside, you need someone to understand…you need to take the first step away from your dead wife…Let me be that first step. You are a powerful man Scott, you shouldn't be undermined. What is so great about this Jean Grey? I mean, who is she without this Phoenix power."

"Emma? Frankly I don't even know what you're talking about. A-and, Jean was more to me than anything else, she was more to me than the Phoenix is. I-I'm sorry, I can't do whatever it is you're asking…I ju-just can't. Not like this, I'm sorry, it's too soon. It's…kind of you to-to check up on me though."

Emma looked incredulously at the half-naked man in bed with a very half-naked her. She was astonished; no man had ever refused her just like this when she made her intentions very clear. No man, no matter who it was.

Without showing any remorse or change in her cool expression, Emma Frost swiftly and gracefully rose rather impressively, Scott noted, for someone in a nightie as small as hers.

She drained the rest of her glass and then turned her head to him, "You can keep the bottle."

Before she took another step out, she felt his warm hand close around her thin wrist.

"Wait. Why are you leaving? We can still enjoy a nice night afterhours together."

Shocked, Emma turned around and asked, "How? Why would you want to spend the rest of this night with me at this point?"

Scott gestured at the empty side next to him on his bed and smiled somewhat cutely and sheepishly, shrugging his bare and muscular shoulders. "Why not? Honestly, please stay, I could use the company, and it looks like you could too. Besides, you intrigue me, Frost. I liked our midnight talk the other night and I have a feeling I'll enjoy more. There's plenty of room here and knowing that you are a shameless telepath, I guess there's no point in not saying it-having found out through our talk, that you are no blonde bimbo, I'd like to get to know you more.

We have already seen each other semi-naked or at least in our private nightwear, met and shared a hopefully for you, mutually stimulating conversation, all without the taint of that oh-so-awkward hooking up part which ruins any friendship. Isn't it great? This is the best start to a relationship with a woman I've ever had, where did you come from, Emma Frost? Really though, I'd like to know all about you."

Emma could practically feel herself wanting to climb into bed with this man and on top of him, her skin was flushed in the still darkness, her heart palpitated a beat faster, and her breath caught in her throat, her perfect lips parted slightly. Never before had she been so aroused, enticed, and turned on by a man's diction to her. Such a genuine statement made her want to lose control with him.

However, this was not the night, which was the point made in Scott's hot speech. Emma felt herself sink back into a bed that was not hers, and lay back next to a man who did not want to sleep with her, although they were both conveniently attractive, very compatible already, physically if not emotionally available, and both barely covered.

She never fathomed there would be the day she met a man who would reject her in this manner, without it being an actual rejection like Ian Kendall had done to her in her teen years. A man who would rather get to know who she was than sleep with her.

"Who's he?"

"Pardon?"

Scott cleared his throat, "Oh, sorry I…am just used to being with a telepath twenty four seven, there would be nights and mornings when Jean and I used to just sit together without speaking and we had this telepathic link and once in a while we'd sort of get absent-minded thoughts from each other and then if we wanted to know more, we'd ask each other about the thought, and we would already know what the other was already talking about. There was no real distinction between telepathic and audible communication for us, we were just that close. So, I think you must have projected some idle thought, as I feel that happens with telepaths, and I got it. I hope it isn't too personal that I ask, I didn't mean to see what was in your head. I saw a-."

"Man, right. It's fine, Scott, I do tend to think aloud telepathically once in a while, and perhaps there is still a part of me lingering in your head right now from when I intruded your dream. And I can hear you think that too, it wasn't rude Scott, since that's what you were thinking. Well, there's an interesting start to our getting-to-know-you session. Ian Kendall… My sophomore year Literature teacher."

Emma's thoughts briefly glossed over the notion of a telepath having a lifelong partner like Scott had been for Jean, to be so closely intimate enough to share your mind and power so comfortably.

Scott snorted, "Why were you thinking of him?"

Emma's crystal blue eyes glazed over.

Scott leaned his chin down against Emma's shoulder and jokingly asked, "When you're in bed with me?"

This definitely got the ice queen's attention. She turned her neck so their faces were close again, her lashes were downward, "We won't get into that yet, and that subject is one we won't discuss until way later."

Scott grinned devilishly, a lock of chestnut hair curving over his forehead, loose of the mousse or gel he used every morning to comb his hair back. "We're baring our souls to each other tonight alright. Okay, you don't have to talk about it, but just so you know, I do want to know. The visual I got of this guy…well I mean, he doesn't seem like your type. Actually…I can't even say what kind of guy is your type, but it sure as hell seems like he isn't. He and I are definitely not your type, so what are you doing thinking of either?"

Emma stretched her arms and arched back lusciously; her skin was touching his as she stretched back against him.

She stated, "I don't really have a type if you must know. Anything rich, powerful, usually unattractive, or overtly masculine, or vulgar, and useful is what I go for normally. It's rare that I come across an attractive, strong, and chivalrous man who is also very, very useful."

Scott's senses perked up, and his broad shoulders stiffened instinctively, as Emma's arm slid across his muscled back and draped a hand over his shoulder, her pink mouth close to his other shoulder as she spoke in hushed tones and her other hand circled cool fingers over his strong smooth calves, which were bent up with his knees at his chest, arms crossed in front of them.

"So, Mr. Summers. What would you like to know about me first?"

Scott turned on his side, propping himself up with his elbow, so that he was facing Emma. He smirked, "How about where you grew up?"

Emma's lips twitched irritably, "Boston, where else?"

Scott nodded. "Go on? What about your childhood? Your embarrassing or awkward teen stories, what growing up as Emma Frost is like? Haven't you ever had a getting' to know ya chat before?"

The White Queen retorted shortly, "I don't chat. I'm strictly business, finances and sex. How could you think that someone like me could have any awkward or embarrassing moments even as a teenager?" 

Scott shrugged, "Everybody has 'em, even White Queens, as flawless as they look."

Emma sighed, "I suppose I'll give you a freebie tonight. I'll just project the entire bloody biography of my life into your head right now. By the way, this is confidential information that has not been resurfaced in memory since they passed. Consider yourself flattered."

Opening his mouth, Scott berated, "You know, Emma, you can't really be perfect, nobody is, you might look it, great, but every single being has flaws, flaws of their own with good traits as well, and sometimes, our flaws are what make us perfect to others. If you were perfect, you'd be boring and ordinary. Are you ordinary?"

Emma said stiffly, "I was."

Scott laughed, "You really don't look ordinary in any way. Jesus, lady, you're a living diamond and a psychic! You're an economist or hedge fund manager's greatest wish."

Emma's face hardened, "I do so embrace my imperfections! Everything about me is perfect, although I do admit proudly that I was a performer for the Elitist Hellfire Club."

Scott's face fell. Emma quirked a brow, "What?"

He shook his head, "Huh? Nothing. Sounds like a rather fun and racy past you've got hidden. I was right, you are interesting as hell."

Emma smiled a little endearingly, close-lipped. "Scott." He looked at her. "I can still hear your thoughts you know. You can just say it as you said earlier. I don't judge, and surprisingly, neither do you. You think, 'How can she stand dancing for perverted men?' Well, that's easy. Politics. It's all a giant chess game and every move is calculated to advance. Simply put, I enjoyed dancing and I enjoyed what I received upon dancing, and let's just say I was a little more under the influence back in the day, but with mind control and manipulation, I was able to rise up to a position more satisfying than being an exotic dancer. My empire is all attributed to what I made upon dancing. You don't like the idea that I displayed my body to b ogled at by these men, do you? Why is that Mr. Summers."

Mr. Summers' face contorted in an unreadable expression, "Gaa-dammit, don't say my name like that! It's Scott!" Emma turned her face and cooed, "Why not, Mister Summers? Does it remind you of the students? Perhaps a certain foolish little student who deliberately calls you that even during training practices? Maybe I remind you of this student, although to be honest as much as they resemble me, I hardly find one of them in the bedroom a threat at all. The question that has been nagging me though, is which is it, which one does this so naively to aggravate you?"

Scott mouth tightened in a scowl, a vein pulsing on his neck. Emma looked into his ruby mask. "Bingo. And the winner is, of course, the innocent little lamb. Mindee. Thank you for thinking it for me. Hm, I suppose I never thought Mindee, especially of all the Stepford Cuckoos, would have any romantic notions, especially about the striking leader of the X-Men, Cyclops. Frankly, it is quite disturbing how much more like me she is becoming…"

Cyclops looked aghast, "Mindee is my pupil, Ms. Frost I guarantee that I've never thought of Mindee that way, it's just that I associate Mr. Summers with her because she is always calling me that in that five-in-one-voice. It's, 'Yes, Mr. Summers, anything for you, Mr. Summers.' It-it drives me crazy. I-I'm so ashamed. And of course she is like you…you are her mother."

Emma grinned slightly and spat out, "Are you crazy? I am and never will be a…mother."

"Changing subjects; are we going to do this or what?"

Emma sighed, knowing full well already, what 'this' meant. She closed her eyes, and touched the sides of his head with her fingers, forming a telepathic link between them in which her memories and past flowed to him.

After several moments of silence, both opened their eyes and saw each other. Scott tentatively raised a hand to Emma's chin, which was pointing down as she was now avoiding his gaze.

Scott lifted her chin so her face faced his and he breathed out, "Thank you… For sharing all that. It means a lot, really."

He leaned forward in a manner that made Emma's breath catch again, as his soft brown hair was brushing against her cheek. Putting his strong arms around her, Scott embraced the shocked White Queen who sat still for a moment, and then relaxed into the embrace of this strange and mysterious man she had just recently met and had more interest in than all the people she had met in her life for the last decade.

His unpredictable and boyish charm worked her up and snapped her out of her lifelong boredom whenever he so much as looked her way. Never had she met anyone like him.

When they pulled apart after hugging each other close for as long as they pleased, Emma slowly met his ruby gaze and whispered softly, "Why…did you just do that?"

Scott grinned lopsidedly, "You looked like you needed one."

For the rest of the dawn until morning, the two laid companionably against Scott's headboard, arms around each other, no need for words or meaning.

They talked until they both fell asleep at the same time, and Emma felt a lulling peace and slept better than she had in years without the help of substances, in Scott's warm and secure arms, in the arms of a man she realized she did not know yet, but found pleasure in getting to know better.

Whether he meant to just be friends with her or not, she didn't care for the moment, she was content to drift off to sleep with him, finding more satisfaction in bed with this man she did not sleep with than she did with all her nights spent with other men who found satisfaction in her body, but from whom she gained nothing but another step up in the enterprising world and a sense of senseless dignity long-forgotten.

**A.N.: Review or…trip! Just kidding, review if you please!**


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